


Lost Chances

by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Extended Scene, Gen, M/M, Pining, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/pseuds/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's gut sinks as he watches Sherlock's plane take flight. Regret sits heavy in his belly because he knows that, yet again, he's missed his chance. He should have listened to that little voice, "Take a chance. You never know, it might be great."</p><p>The author's extended ending to His Last Vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Chances

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having some writer's block lately. KrisKenshin gave me the prompt, "Take a chance. You never know, it might be great," and this is what happened. An unbetaed work.

If John is honest with himself about this _thing_ that washes over him whenever he is in Sherlock’s presence, he’d admit he’s had feelings for Sherlock Holmes almost since the beginning. But he’s always pushed it to the back of his mind, reserved for those spare moments he keeps to himself. Now, here, on the tarmac, as he watches Sherlock’s plane ascend, his palm still tingling from their last handshake; John’s emotions come crashing in on him and he know better than to try and convince himself that it was anything other than love and that the sinking feeling in his gut is regret.

~~~~~

Regret because there were so many missed opportunities, so many times he could have spoken up, that little voice in his head whispering “Take a chance. You never know, it might be great.” But he had been too unsure, too much of a coward, too sure that there was no way Sherlock could feel like _that_ for him. Lying in his bed in 221B _before,_ half asleep, his guard down and safe from Sherlock’s prying eyes, there had been many times John had envisioned taking that chance. In the adrenaline rush after a case, pinning Sherlock against the wall, kissing him and leaving him more breathless than any chase. A quiet declaration over a shared meal. Spontaneous, in a fit of anger, yelling at Sherlock how dare he risk his life, risk the life of the man John cared -- _not love not even in those moments could he admit that_ \-- so much for? Laughing over something that most people wouldn’t get and just being in the moment together a quick squeeze of hands, no words needing to be said but everything understood. At the pool, in the palace, in their flat, during the whole Baskerville case, before going out the door to Moriarty’s mock trial; there were so many times John had the chance, should have, could have said or done something but never did.

Sometimes, in these fantasies, Sherlock would reciprocate John’s feelings, but most times John’s self-depreciating mind wandered down the path of rejection. He imagined the “married to my work” speeches, laughing in John’s face at the sentiment of it all, and worst of all, the awkward days and weeks that would have inevitably followed. So John shoved those emotions aside, locked them up in a box, and pushed forward with what he did have. An amazing friendship with the most unbelievable, outrageous, amazing, and brilliant man he’d ever met.

Then Sherlock had jumped off that damn roof at Bart’s and John’s world had shattered.

After a while, he managed to pick up the pieces of his life, but none of them fit just right. They were jagged at the edges, bits missing, and John did his best to forget about those lost chances. Mary came along and instead of trying to fix him, like others had; she accepted those jagged edges and missing bits. She helped smooth them out, understood that Sherlock had been an important part of his life, helped him grieve, and made him smile throughout it all. John was happy.

And, suddenly, Sherlock was back. That first night had been rough for all of them. But, even then, even with rage that clouded his vision red, John had seen something in Sherlock’s eyes, when he first rose unsteady from the table. They were softer, fearful, not as sure and confidant as the man he’d used to know. John would see those same emotions as well as eyes full of hope and regret many times over the weeks and months that followed.

Those feelings he’d harbored for Sherlock had never really gone away, but Mary’s presence had served to help soothe the hurt and loss when John had thought Sherlock dead. Now that Sherlock was back, so were they, but now tempered by betrayal and hurt. Still that little voice started to reappear, “Take a chance. You never know, it might be great.” In the train car, he had come so close, so _very_ close to saying something when Sherlock had begged his forgiveness, but Sherlock’s giggle had distracted him and John couldn’t quite bring himself to say anything after that. On his stag night John was feeling loose and happy enough that, again, he almost, _almost,_ said something, but then Mrs. Hudson had knocked with a case and of course everything was out the window after that. He might have said something in the cell with Sherlock but they had both been so wasted, John couldn’t remember anything so that didn’t count.

There were times; John thought he saw something in Sherlock’s eyes, something more than just the admiration of a friend that had been there before. A softer smile that reached Sherlock’s eyes, when John would catch Sherlock staring at him and there was a fleeting moment of tenderness before the mask would reappear. Or when Sherlock had been teaching John how to dance for the wedding, Sherlock’s look of contentment as he led John in the dance and then followed him in the waltz, John could have sworn there was something more there. It hung heavy in the air, unspoken. And the voice in his head chirped up again, louder and more insistent. This was a waltz for his wedding to Mary, he’d remind himself, so again he kept silent.

But, there was no mistaking the look on Sherlock’s face there in the reception hall as the music blared after John and Mary’s first dance. No mistaking that look of love and loss, adoration and pain in Sherlock’s eyes. John had seen it too many times on himself, those months after Sherlock had jumped off the roof. Then when Sherlock had disappeared early from the reception without even a goodbye and disappeared into the ether, John knew without a doubt. John knew he had wasted every chance they had been given. But now he had to focus on his wife, and the new knowledge of an unborn child. So he boxed those feelings up again and pushed forward.

When the unthinkable happened, and John’s world crashed down around him for a second time, John had wanted to tell Sherlock how he felt. But there were too many other emotions, too many other things taking up the bandwidth in his brain. There were plans made, secrets that needed to be kept, and a baby still to consider. John wasn’t sure what to do with all the new information, so he followed Sherlock’s lead. Christmas arrived quicker than John realized, and then the events that followed that day. John regretted allowing all of those things to get in the way of what would have been the perfect time to talk to Sherlock as he stood there, hands behind his head and watched the lasers all focused on Sherlock’s pale face.

On the runway, before Sherlock’s plane took off, John had thought that maybe Sherlock would be the first to speak up, but John’s heart splintered a bit at Sherlock’s goodbye speech. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, perhaps it never could. John had the sneaking suspicion that Sherlock wasn’t coming back from this mission and maybe it would be best for neither of them to speak of the unspoken. Best to leave it unsaid and keep the hope alive.

~~~~~

Mary squeezes John’s hand and repeats what she’d said. She points at the sky and John gasps. Sherlock’s plane has turned around and is headed back to the runway. Back to John. Suddenly, the little voice in his head isn’t so little anymore. It’s practically yelling at him. There is no “might be”, John knows it _will be_ great and knows what he has to do.

Mycroft steps out of his car as Sherlock’s plane lands. John is barely aware of the elder Holmes as his nerves sing in anticipation, but grateful for his presence. John knows whatever happens; Mycroft will make sure Mary doesn’t do anything rash. It is an agonizing age as John waits for door to open and Sherlock to set foot on the runway. Finally, Sherlock appears in the doorway, the wind whipping his coat around him. John releases Mary’s hand and takes off at a run.

He grabs Sherlock by the collar and pulls him down, Sherlock barely having time to utter “Joh-“ before their lips are crashing together. It’s not sweet, it’s not tender. It’s a desperate and hungry kiss, fueled by the missed chances and lost opportunities. He pours all the regret and love he has into that moment. Sherlock returns the fervor, hungry, as if he’s starved for this point of contact, his large hands grabbing John’s face, holding him there as they break apart and breathe together for a moment before John allows himself to look up at Sherlock. For once in his life, Sherlock is shocked into silence, eyes wide, and he has released John’s face, fingers unconsciously fluttering over lips. John grins for a moment, and then takes a breath before he turns to face the other two people on the tarmac.


End file.
